


Berlin, du bist so wunderbar

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Berlin - Freeform, Beware of Berlin hipsters, Erik and his sister love dive bars fight me, Erik is a Sweetheart, Everyone is (discreetly) gay, M/M, Nicky is a precious plum, Nutella discourse, Pre-Slash, friendship language, if u don't have a crush on Kathi Klose ur wrong, the art of cosmopolitising nicky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: He already knows he's going to protect this sweet, frail boy who looks like he's just hatched from an egg and is staring around at this new world in wonder.In which Erik introduces Nicky to Berlin.





	Berlin, du bist so wunderbar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvanderwon (missbysshe)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=luvanderwon+%28missbysshe%29).
  * Inspired by [Dichtung und Wahrheit, or: How Nicky Hemmick Learned To Have Some Pride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983123) by [luvanderwon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvanderwon/pseuds/luvanderwon). 



> There are some German bits here again, so if you need a translation or explanation you can hover over the words and a mouse-over text should appear. For people reading on mobile/e-reader, I've put a list in the end notes as well.
> 
> You don't have to read Dichtung und Wahrheit to understand this (although I highly recommend it!), though if you have, you might recognise the Klose family who are mostly Janie's creation :)
> 
> Many thanks to Janie for inspiring me and for giving this a quick impromptu beta!
> 
> Minor warning for underage drinking and Nutella discourse.

Nicky Hemmick arrives in Berlin in the summer, with a bit of time to spare before the school year begins. The Kloses bring him daffodils at the airport even though they're not really in season anymore. Erik thinks this is fitting. Daffodils, for him, always feel like a new beginning, and the boy that comes through Tegel airport clinging to his suitcase and looking a little green in the face looks like he could use exactly that: a belated new beginning.

Jutta has made a sign that she holds up over her head. It says _Herzlich willkommen Nicky_ and has pictures of the entire family making silly faces underneath. Nicky's eyes catch on it like a lifeline. He seems to steel himself for a moment before walking over, straight-backed at first but progressively shrinking in on himself.

“Verzeihen,” he says in halting German, “Sie sind Frau Klose?”

It sounds like _close_ in his mouth – the opposite of what they want to be.

“Klose,” Jutta corrects smilingly, shaking his hand. “Wie der Fußballspieler!”

“Mama, ich glaub nicht dass er Miro Klose kennt,” Erik laughs, jostling for space so he can shake his hand too. Nicky looks overwhelmed, so Erik pats his shoulder and takes his suitcase from him.

He already knows he's going to protect this sweet, frail boy who looks like he's just hatched from an egg and is staring around at this new world in wonder.

*

“Ok, discourse time,” Kathi says, in English because Nicky looks like he's about to fall asleep on the cheap plastic table after a day of walking around what feels like the entirety of Berlin Mitte with barely a break. The sun is setting, yolk-yellow in the distance, blooming like weeds along the horizon. Kathi gestures with a fry and tips her head to the side so her hair slides over her bare shoulder.

“Fries should only be eaten with mayo,” she announces, popping the fry in her mouth. “Discuss.”

“Only if it's mayo and ketchup together,” Erik argues. “Pommes rot-weiß all the way.”

“Pommes rot-weiß,” Nicky tries, his mouth snapping like gum around the words. He squints at his _Currywurst_ and licks a smear of sauce off the pointy knuckle of his thumb. “I like it. Do you have chilli cheese fries in Germany?”

“Not really,” Kathi says and shrugs one shoulder. “Sometimes at like, burger places. Hey, we should take him to White Trash. He can get a tattoo.”

She giggles, missing the straw in her Club Mate as it bobs in the carbonated drink and poking herself in the cheek with it. Nicky pales and then laughs a little.

“I don't think my parents would be thrilled about that,” he mumbles, spearing another piece of sausage on the tiny plastic fork. His hand is trembling and Erik wants to reach out and hold it. In the two weeks Nicky's been here, he has barely talked about his parents; only given up small, reluctant morsels of information when prompted.

“All the more reason to get one,” Kathi grins. She and Erik clink their mate bottles together and knock back the dregs.

*

“Wodka Ahoj,” Erik decides, slamming his palm on the table. He regrets that a bit as it comes away sticky and Kathi dances out of his reach when he tries to wipe it on her top.

They get vodka shots and packets of Ahoj sherbet at the bar – raspberry for Kathi, cola for Erik and Waldmeister for Nicky because he doesn't know it and that's just not on. Waldmeister is _iconic,_ is Erik and Kathi's childhood summers in a nutshell: sweating in the garden and trying to coax the broken swing set back to life, green-stained tongues and makeshift tree houses and competitions about who could hold the most sherbet in their mouths.

“First the sherbet, then the shot,” Erik tells Nicky when they're back at the table with Kathi's friends and the vodka has been handed out. He turns to the group, holds up his packet and shouts: “Auf drei!”

They count to three. Erik pours the sherbet in his mouth, adds the vodka and shakes his head like a dog to make it fizz before swallowing it down. It burns and he laughs at the expression on Nicky's face.

“Dieser Club ist so abgefackt Mann, ich find's geil,” Kathi whoops, washing down her shot with a swig of Erik's beer.

“Was ist _abgefackt_?” Nicky asks curiously. “Is it like fucked up?”

“I guess,” Erik nods. “It's like... seedy. A seedy, grungy place. Like this one.”

He twirls his finger at the graffiti splashed on the walls, the trash on the floor, the writhing people on the dancefloor that look more broken than the doors on the toilet stalls in the basement. Nicky follows the gesture and nods, understanding.

“Abgefackt,” he says with satisfaction. “Das ist eine gute Wort.”

*

Watching the sunrise from the S-Bahn is a very particular brand of aesthetics in itself that will forever make Erik nostalgic. He hums the fucking [Landungsbrücken ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8eZ3AaiBnU0)song to himself because it seems weirdly appropriate even though it's really not – for one thing, they're not in Hamburg, Jesus Christ – but Kathi is asleep and can't call him out on it, and Nicky isn't complaining. He has his head on Erik's shoulder and is watching the world pull past outside the window, eyes drooping but awake.

The river Spree squints grumpily at the lightening sky and falls back asleep.

Fucking Kettcar, Erik thinks, idly playing with Nicky's soft hair. Always popping up in his mind at weird moments like this, giving him feelings.

“Was ist die Lied?” Nicky asks sleepily, hooking his thumbnail around the peeling edge of a sticker on the window. “Ich mag gerne.”

He's started rolling his Rs like in Spanish and Erik loves it. His own German is more Berliner Schnauze than anything and he's never learned to make his Rs like that; they stay stubbornly soft and hidden in the back of his mouth like a shy, feral animal.

Nicky prods him for an answer and Erik smiles.

“Just a crappy German band,” he replies, half-aware that it's in English but not really caring. They've been switching back and forth for weeks now, sometimes changing mid-sentence; some of Kathi's favourite internet slang mixed in on occasion, and it almost feels like a language of their own by now. “Der Song ist ein verdammter Ohrwurm. An earworm, you know? Something you can't get out of your head.”

“I know,” Nicky mumbles, closing his eyes at last. “God, I know that so well.”

*

Erik likes to walk around naked after a shower.

He blames it on his tendency to overheat, and his family has long since got used to it, which is why he doesn't think twice about it when he realises he's forgotten to take his clothes into the bathroom with him and walks out with a shrug and his towel slung over his neck.

There's a squeak and a collision; Erik reflexively puts his hands on Nicky's shoulders to steady him.

“O-oh,” Nicky stammers, brown skin flushed to the roots of his hair.

“Alles klar?” Erik grins. He slides his towel down but only makes a half-hearted effort at covering himself – he's not shy about his body and Nicky's been here a month and a half now; they've gone swimming at Krumme Lanke and Schlachtensee and there's barely anything on display that Nicky hasn't seen at least once before.

“Alles klar!” Nicky squeaks, clapping a hand over his eyes nonetheless. Erik watches him grope around for the bathroom door for a bit, bemused, until he takes pity on him and guides his hand to the doorknob.

Kathi falls out of her bedroom when the bathroom door closes fretfully behind Nicky. She yawns, scrubs a hand through her undercut which is starting to grow out again, and saunters over with one eyebrow raised.

“Magst dir nicht vielleicht was anziehen, kleiner Bruder?” she grins, snatching the towel out of his loose grip and slapping his bare ass with it, so hard it makes Erik hiss through his teeth. “Das war doch grad Nicky, oder?”

She bangs on the bathroom door.

“Nick! Ich muss Pipi! Kann ich rein?”

There's a very long silence on the other side, then the lock clicks open and Nicky slides back out with his shirt on backwards and his towel in his hand. He jumps when he sees Erik still there.

Erik grins, winks and wanders off to get dressed.

*

There is a war going on in the Kloses' living room.

The culprit sits on the coffee table – a jar of Nutella, with Kathi's spoon still in a puddle of chocolate beside it – and it isn't until Peter yells something about how he's just going to say “der Nutella” now if everyone insists on being stupid over whether the article is “das” or “die” that Erik realises Nicky is missing.

He finds him on the balcony, leaning on the railing and breathing heavily, sucking in big gulps of the crisp September air. Steglitz is humming three storeys below, saturated with sunshine and business in the late afternoon, four o'clock traffic congealed on the warm tar like a dropped ice-cream cone: Feierabendverkehr.

“Hey,” Erik says, stepping around abandoned flower pots and placing one hand between Nicky's heaving shoulderblades. His shirt feels slightly damp with sweat.

“Sorry,” Nicky says immediately. His knuckles are white around the railing. “I just needed some air.”

“That's alright,” Erik says carefully and leaves his hand where it is. “Things can get a bit intense with my family sometimes.”

Nicky laughs a little and nods. His hand is shaking again as he threads it nervously through his hair.

“Mine too. But not like that.”

Erik is quiet, not sure what to say to that. Nicky has that pained, faraway look on his face that he always gets when he talks about home. It's enough to make Erik want to keep him here forever.

A car horn startles them both. Probably an angry bus driver, late on his last tour of the day.

“About the other day,” Nicky says, taking a deep breath and standing stiff like he's about to jump off the highest diving board at the swimming pool. “When you... the shower...”

Erik grins.

“When I was naked?” he says, unapologetically.

“Yes,” Nicky murmurs, “that. I... don't take this the wrong way, it's just. I'm not used to. It's... could you, maybe, not... do that?”

Erik feels something in his throat constrict. It was funny at the time, seeing Nicky squirm; it's not funny now, not even a little bit.

“Of course,” he says after a moment of feeling ridiculously, overwhelmingly guilty. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Not like this, anyway. Nicky flashes him a thin smile and nods.

“It's okay. Things are just different in my family. It's a bit of a cultural shock, I guess?”

“That's fair,” Erik says, returning the smile. “Are you homesick?”

Nicky purses his lips and thinks about it, watching the shoppers below. A pigeon flies past, crooning as it lands in the high tree opposite, long-fingered chestnut leaves swaying under its sudden weight.

“I miss some things,” Nicky finally says, wringing his hands on the railing. “But... I don't think I'm homesick. At all. Is that weird?”

Erik smiles.

“No,” he says, “not weird. Hey, want some Nutella?”

Nicky laughs and follows him back inside, hiding behind the bulk of Erik's body and twisting his hands in his shirt as they edge past the argument that is still going strong. Erik swipes the Nutella jar from the coffee table and they bolt for the kitchen, laughing and clutching at each other.

“So,” Nicky says when they're sitting side-by-side on the counter with two spoons and a batch of late, bruised-red strawberries that Jutta was going to turn into jam. “Was ist die richtig Artikel für Nutella, dann?”

“Die natürlich,” Erik grins, licking his spoon. “Kathi is full of shit, as always.”

“She's right about some things,” Nicky hums.

“Oh? Like what?”

Nicky shrugs and looks away, half awkward half sly.

“Sag ich nicht,” he says cheekily. “Du fragst sie selber.”

“I will do that,” Erik says, intrigued, and leans forward to wipe a smear of Nutella off Nicky's nose.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> The title means “Berlin, you're so wonderful” but it's also from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2_ZZhuGdAM) which is also used in a beer commercial. Everyone knows it. Everyone.  
> Herzlich willkommen Nicky – Welcome Nicky  
> Verzeihen, Sie sind Frau Klose? – Excuse, you are Mrs Klose?  
> Wie der Fußballspieler – Like the soccer player  
> Mama, ich glaub nicht dass er Miro Klose kennt – Mom, I don't think he knows Miro Klose  
> Pommes rot-weiß – Fries “red and white” (with ketchup and mayo)  
> Currywurst – sausage in curried tomato sauce (iconic junk food in Berlin)  
> Club Mate – the ultimate hipster drink (iced mate tea)  
> Waldmeister – woodruff, a flavour used for syrups, punch, sherbet and sweets, tastes kind of herbal-foresty?  
> Auf drei – On the count of three  
> Dieser Club ist so abgefackt Mann, ich find's geil – This club is so seedy/grungy/gross, I love it  
> Das ist eine gute Wort – This is a good word (should be ein gutes Wort, Nicky still struggles with the articles but who can blame him really)  
> S-Bahn – suburban train, usually goes above ground  
> Was ist die Lied? Ich mag gerne – What song is that? I like it a lot. (should be Was ist das für ein Lied? Ich mag es gerne/Es gefällt mir)  
> Berliner Schnauze – literally “Berlin snout”, what the Berlin dialect is called and also a reference to a specific brand of benign rudeness attributed to Berlin :)  
> Der Song ist ein verdammter Ohrwurm – This song is a god damn earworm (gets stuck in your head)  
> Alles klar? - Everything ok?  
> Magst dir nicht vielleicht was anziehen, kleiner Bruder? – Don't you wanna put some clothes on, little brother?  
> Das war doch grad Nicky, oder? – That was Nicky, wasn't it?  
> Ich muss Pipi! Kann ich rein? – I have to pee! Can I come in?  
> Feierabendverkehr – what it says on the tin. Four o'clock traffic when everyone gets off work.  
> Was ist die richtig Artikel für Nutella, dann? – What is the right article for Nutella, then? (Should be Was ist denn nun der richtige Artikel für Nutella?)  
> Die natürlich – Die (feminine 'the') of course  
> Sag ich nicht. Du fragst sie selber – I won't say. Ask her yourself. (should be Frag sie selber.)
> 
> (I can't believe I passed up an opportunity to write about Berlin Späti culture... sigh)


End file.
